


Shadowlover

by Raeliyah



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Horde, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Shadow Priest, blood elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeliyah/pseuds/Raeliyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What makes a Priestess give in to the Shadow? How can one go from relieving pain to inflicting it? One too many fights in Tarren Mill take their toll on even the most noble soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowlover

**Author's Note:**

> Old, old writing hiding on my hard drive. Backstory for why my blood-elf priestess Akanei switched specs after I got killed one too many times while questing. She maybe went a little insane.

Rope. Rope around her wrists, rubbing the skin raw, around her ankles, keeping her bent and helpless. She knew she was hurt, hurt badly, but it was the raw scrapes on her wrists that hurt the most, pain that kept her just barely anchored in reality, in sanity. The stone was cold against bare knees and legs, whispers of knife-edged winter winds against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders. 

That had hurt. She still didn't know why the Alliance women did it. She'd been vain of her hair – long and lustrously black – but, what sin'dorei wasn't vain of some feature or other? They'd sent a priestess in, when the men were done with her (the leering face of the kal'dorei warrior as she'd been tied down would never leave her), ostensibly to Heal her, she supposed. She'd never managed to decipher enough of the gabble they passed off as language to understand them. 

Drips from neglected ceilings, icy water down her spine. So... exposed. Cold. Her hair! Oh, yes... her hair. The priestess... pitiful human woman, hair shorter than the mane on a springpaw... must have been jealous! Wanted her broken, in spirit and in body. Submit, submit, must always submit. Wrenched her head around, grabbed at her hair, had the guards hold her down when she fought – back when she'd still had fight in her. It'd been dirty, and tangled sure, but it was still... her... hair! Took a massive, sharp-edged knife and hacked through the rope of hair, leaving it hanging in pitiful shreds about her chin. 

Ropes. Ropes had caught her. Dragged her away. His blood stained her fingers for days. She couldn't remember his name, or if she'd ever known it, just that the ropes lashed around her as the Tauren's blood spilled through her fingers as she struggled to hold the gaping wound in his side closed. The Light wouldn't answer her, and she hadn't even had the energy to scream as the heroes of the Alliance … fel-damned fools... dragged her away. 

It wasn't supposed to be like that. There'd always been fighting in Tarren Mill, what with South Shore a stone's throw away. But always just skirmishes, forces on either side evenly matched. She'd been sent, new allies, to help patch up in the aftermath, heal the wounded, recall the dying. The Alliance... she never found out why so many fresh, so strong troops came back after the battle, violating the pattern – glorious Order – just that instead of a battle it was a slaughter. 

Whispers in the dark. She knew those voices. When the Light was gone, there was only Shadow. So her teachers said. She'd seen priests and priestesses seduced by Shadow, driven mad, brought back to the Cities for healing. It was coming for her. Voice in the dark, writhing out from the dark corners of her soul, corners she'd thought were lit and empty. 

_Akanei... We can end this, you and I_. A man strode towards her in the eternal half-world that the spirit roamed some place between Life and true Death – the cold she couldn't feel any more pushed her there, that much closer to death, to dying. Wrists still raw together, bent over on her knees, hands behind her back. 

The man – sin'dorei – knelt down at her head, tilting her chin up to look at him, softly, gently. He was veiled in shadow, wore it like a cloak, dark hair and dark eyes ever shifting obscured. _Let me show you, my beauty..._ Head lowered, husky soft lips brushing hers, just a tantalizing taste. 

Cell door clanging open jarred her. Guards dragging her bodily to her bare, abused feet. She hung limply in their grasp, not the strength to fight it, shoulders nearly dislocated behind her. Rough hand grabbed her by the tips of her ears, yanking her head back, ripping the earrings out in a bloody mess. Just one new pinprick of pain, why they hadn't done that earlier was a mystery. She wasn't valuable any more, just something to be disposed of. Didn't care. 

The face that sneered at her – kal'dorei, ancient kin now enemy again. The warrior again, hadn't had his fill of her yet, letting out his savage side. At least the draenei there had the good grace to look disgusted with his ally... but he didn't move to stop him either. 

More rope. Rough wood cutting into her back, bending her the other way, making barely-closed wounds and stiff cold muscles shriek in protest. Was it a table? No, a bench – tall wooden bench with sturdy feet. At least... at least the blood was warm on her skin. Her blood. Or was it still his, the Tauren's? She couldn't save him. Dripping down the back of her legs like an omen. 

He wasn't alone. The kal'dorei. Stripped to the waist, trews unlaced and threatening to burst like an Amani primal God. There were humans behind him, as eager and savage as any blood-lusted orc, and... was that a dwarf? One last chance to get their fill of pretty little sin'dorei. Silvermoon slut. That's what the grunts called her, them, all the women. Probably what the alliance called them too. Expecting them all to be easy, craving. Maybe that's why they'd kept her so long. She hadn't been entertaining. 

“Bash'a no falor talah,” he said, rough hands dragging down battered ribs. Lips were close, stank of hard alcohol, words said like a caress but she could hear the threat behind them even if she didn't understand it. Fingers strangely gentle at her face, brushing back tattered strands of hair, then a violent jerk and 

suddenly stars exploded across her vision. 

Half-world, Shadow-man, stretched out beside her, such a contrast with sincerely gentle movements. _Akanei. You don't wish to die, I know._ Handsome shadowed face bowed towards her, feather-light hair brushed against her skin. So tempting, so tempting. 

“What... do I have to live for?” Stranger still, her voice was strong and even, not the cracked echo she'd grown used to, when they pushed her beyond will. 

_Revenge, my sweet. Kill them all. Make them know your pain. Make them understand that even a priest is not to be taken lightly._ Coaxing, cajoling hand at the nape of her neck, more tantalizing kisses down her cheek and chin. 

Revenge. Yes. Payment for the lives they stole. For disrespect. Revenge was a good reason to live. Rage seethed up from deep within her soul, a violence she hadn't known she was capable of. Shadow smiled, a feral smile, and pulled her close for a deep kiss. Grabbed at his shoulders, rolling him onto her, returning the kiss with passion. Power, knowledge, the dark seductive side of the Light poured into her, and suddenly she didn't care that it was the kal'dorei between her legs, for Shadow was the lover of her soul. 

New, sharp pain brought her back with painful clarity. Cold steel between her ribs couldn't kill her; the very air vibrated with her dark rage. She took Shadow into herself and became Shadow, ropes going limp as she rose gracefully, knife clattering to the table. 

Fearful mutterings greeted her; she saw not dwarf, human or kal'dorei but panicked little souls full of life and strength, hers for the taking. Shadowed hand reached forward, caressing the kal'dorei's face. 

“You've wanted my pain for so long, feral one,” she crooned at his confused expression. “And now you shall have it.” Her fingers spasmed, twisted, and his body crumpled and writhed in agony – her agony. She felt his life drain away and sipped it as she would a fine vintage, feeling each hurt soothed by delicious justice. 

The others began screaming, trying to flee, but for a few brave souls who came at her with more weapons of steel. Shadow was her ally, and their blades struck nothing but air. A touch of her mind, a whisper, and her agony became theirs as well; with each new spirit sent to the half-world her strength returned. 

_Release us, sweet Akanei,_ crooned Shadow. _Release us, and we shall wreak havoc across the bloody fields for these injustices._

Akanei smiled, trailing her fingers in the soaking pool of her own blood before bringing it to her lips. “They sought to break me... I shall break them.” Guards rushed in the door, but her voice in their minds dissolved their will, sending them fleeing into the night. The draenei now became her tool, and with his blade she cut down the priestesses before commanding him to turn it on himself. 

Clad in the robes of the priestess who'd taken her hair, and riding one of their own mounts, she turned westward. The front lines... the valley of Alterac. Her sister was there. Melisandre would understand. Melisandre would fight, and the two of them would turn the slaughter back sevenfold. 

_Akanei, my Lady. Light will thee ever stronger, for Shadow would see you ever victorious._

 


End file.
